


Can't Believe

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Sassy Peter Hale, Scott is a Bad Friend, The Alpha Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:37:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the hell are you doing here?" Scott asks, already on his feet and ready to lunge.</p><p>"Relax, Scott," Peter sneers. "This is a friendly visit. I brought flowers. See?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Oh. My. God. I am so, so, so sorry for how long it took me to post this. You may have already seen on tumblr, but I got kittens and I am getting no sleep because of their cute butts. So really. So sorry. But kittens.
> 
> But here's a chapter! Yay! Hope to get the next part up soon!
> 
> As always, a big thanks to my beta, monkeyloser, and a big thanks to all of you for sticking with this story!! Love ya!

Stiles manages to be awake the next time Scott comes to visit. It's a bit stilted at first, Scott seeming nervous and unsure; honestly after all that's happened Scott's not sure if there's a spot for him at Stiles' side anymore. He asks how Stiles is doing from the doorway and expresses genuine sympathy toward Stiles' loss when he tells him about Cor. When Stiles offers up a cheeky grin and a hug with his good arm, Scott embraces him with an air of relief. Things will be okay between them, always have been, but there's nothing like a near-death experience to remind them of the fortitude of their friendship.

Beyond happy to see that Stiles is no longer angry with him Scott can't help the desperate tone that comes out when he tells his friend, "Sorry. Sorry I've been such a shitty friend. You―you didn't even call me this time. Don't do that again, man. Please at least call _somebody_ for back-up next time, okay? Isaac, or somebody. I mean, seriously I can't believe you went there alone. I mean, I can, but...you know what I mean. Why didn't you call anybody?"

"Because…"

"Because you didn't want anybody else getting hurt. Geez, Stiles, I know. I know that's exactly what you thought," Scott says, exasperated. He speaks from years of experience.

Stiles shrugs. He can't change who he is.

"You could have at least called Peter," Scott jokes. "We don't care what happens to him. And he would have enjoyed getting another chance at killing Kate, right? Maybe actually get it right this time?"

Stiles scoffs. "Yeah, Scott. Because you know Peter is just one of my favorite people."

"Why, Stiles, I'm touched," a voice says from the doorway.

They both whip their heads around to see the man in question standing there, a bouquet of flowers under one arm and a smirk on his lips. He would show up during the forty minutes that Derek is away at Deaton's. Creepy stalker.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Scott asks, already on his feet and ready to lunge.

"Relax, Scott," Peter sneers. "This is a friendly visit. I brought flowers. See?"

"I don't want them," Stiles says grimly.

"Manners, Stiles," Peter chides. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Leave."

"Really? Because you smell like you're in pain to me," the older man says taking a few steps closer to sniff delicately. "Hasn't anyone been taking your pain?"

"They're not allowed to. So I don't accidentally overdo it."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Maybe if they―and by they, I mean my nephew―learned to only take a little at a time…"

Before anyone can stop him Peter's fingers are wrapping around Stiles' forearm. Stiles flinches, Peter's hand so close to his wrist for a second time subconsciously triggering the memory from the parking garage. The irrational fear that Peter is going to bite him and turn him comes over Stiles in a cold wash of apprehension.

But Peter simply finishes saying, "...it wouldn't be a problem," as black lines run over the back of his hand. "Better?"

"Uh." Stiles blinks twice in surprise. It doesn't feel like pain stabbing into him, sharp like a knife, so much as a dull ache like after a thorough workout now. If he tries to inhale too deeply, his ribs still sting sorely, but breathing shallowly now they just feel slightly uncomfortable. "Yeah, actually. Thanks…"

"You're welcome," Peter says and deposits his flowers onto the nightstand. The bouquet is a strange but lovely combination of red, orange, and white flowers, and if Stiles is not mistaken fern. There's also a tall green plant in the back that looks like it belongs in a Dr. Seuss book.

"What the hell are those?" Stiles asks, indicating the strange greenery.

"Bells of Ireland," Peter answers.

Stiles stares at him for a moment and then says, "Every single one of those flowers means something, don't they?"

"They do," Peter agrees, smirking. "A positive message, I assure you."

Scott makes a face of disgust, while Stiles seems blatantly distrustful of that statement.

"Whatever you say, Peter," Stiles yields. Then he asks, as Peter takes a seat, "So really. Why are you here?"

The older man raises his eyebrows, expression mild. "To see you. Really. You went through quite an ordeal, I hear. I wanted to see for myself that you were recovering. And I wanted to thank you. I'm grateful for what you did, Stiles. For killing Kate Argent where I failed. Granted I really would have liked to do it myself, but...Well, family is the next best thing, I suppose."

Stiles jerks back like Peter pulled a cobra out of his jacket. "We're not family."

"You're not family," Scott parrots.

Peter frowns. "Of course, we are. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Uh, why the hell _would_ we be?" Stiles retorts.

"Because Derek is my nephew and you are his mate. Hence, you are family. "Married-in" as it were."

Stiles gapes. Scott gapes. Peter only waits.

" _What_?" Stiles finally demands.

Scott echoes his question with a much angrier, growlier version.

Peter blinks, then rolls the patented long-suffering Hale eye-roll. "Stiles, I know you're heavily drugged right now, but surely you remember that you and Derek are bonded."

"Yeah, but we're not―" Stiles stops, eyes widening suddenly. "Oh my god, we're mates. Is that even a thing? Oh my god, that's a thing."

"Derek didn't tell you?" Peter inquires.

"No. No, he did not."

"Figures," Peter scoffs.

"Why the hell wouldn't he have told me?" Stiles demands of the elder werewolf.

Peter simply raises his eyebrows in a manner that says he's judging Stiles deeply for his lack of comprehension right now. Damn the Hale gene that allows them all to talk using only their eyebrows.

The look does prompt Stiles to understand what Peter is getting at though. Aloud, Stiles realizes, "Oh my god, he wouldn't have told me because he thought it would scare me off or something equally stupid like that. That _idiot_."

"That would be my guess," Peter confirms.

Stiles lets this new information sink in. _Mates_. That's such a foreign word to him. He had run across the idea of mates multiple times in his research, but he never thought it had actually existed amongst real-life werewolves. It had seemed like such a romance-novel sort of idea to him. "Mated for life" seemed like a sorely naive idea. Currently though, what with being bound to Derek by _blood_ and _magic_ already, he's reconsidering his view on all of it. What's one more thing tying them together forever?

"So...we're essentially werewolf married," he states, because at the moment that's what makes the most sense to him.

"Yes, Stiles. Werewolf married. You got it," Peter says, utterly bored with the conversation.

"Huh," is all Stiles has to say to that.

"You're taking this awfully well," Peter comments.

"Well, "boyfriends" was never really the right word, so…" Stiles shrugs. "Despite the fact that I didn't even know mates was a real thing until about two minutes ago, it's really not that much of a stretch. I mean, Derek and I are already―"

"Oh my god!" Scott erupts suddenly, shooting to his feet.

Stiles and Peter blink at him in surprise.

"You're not really buying this, are you? You're just accepting this from _Peter_ of all people?" he demands of Stiles. "Even if you and Derek _were_ mates, how could you _possibly_ be okay with belonging to _that_ family?"

Stiles' face hardens and it causes Peter to smirk. He imagines he and Stiles are thinking exactly the same thing.

"I'm sorry," Stiles begins sharply, "who was it again who has had every single one of his potential in-laws attempt to kill him? Are _you_ really bringing that up with me, Scott? Peter at least has never directly tried to kill me. Mostly."

"You're my favorite," Peter tells him in an aside. Stiles grimaces at him.

Scott only seethes. "That was different with me and Allison."

"No, it wasn't! How the hell was that different?" Stiles argues.

"Because we loved each other!"

Stiles' jaw drops and he gets that feeling like the rug has been yanked out from under him. He stares at his best friend for a long time, inevitably shaking his head in disbelief.

"You really don't think Derek and I have a genuine relationship with each other."

"I don't trust him, Stiles. I think he's just using you to get to me."

Stiles goes cold. "I can't believe you just said that to me."

"Stiles," Scott pleads. "You have to admit...Derek doesn't always have the most honest intentions. And with you...didn't you ever think maybe he was just playing you?"

The crisp scent of winter air permeates the room suddenly. Peter wrinkles his nose against the strange scent and is shocked when he realizes it's coming from Stiles.

"No, Scott. I never thought he was just playing me," Stiles says evenly. "Not even once. Now get out."

"Stiles, he wants me in his pack. You know he does,” Scott argues.

"That doesn't have anything to do with him loving me!" Stiles shouts. "Now. Get. Out!"

"Stiles―"

" _Out!_ " Stiles bellows and the window rattles and every machine in the room stutters.

The outburst frightens Scott and he flinches before running out the door without looking back.

The room is horrifically silent. Peter takes the time to carefully survey the room’s interior. The liquid in Stiles' IV drip has turned to an icy slush. Frost is creeping up the window panes in delicate, white veins. Stiles' fingernails are a bruising violet color instead of their usual blushing pink.

Peter recalls Stiles' particular scent of magic lingering around the warehouse smelling like quite the opposite.

How interesting.

The werewolf clears his throat and Stiles immediately casts his chilling gaze on him.

"I'll just show myself o―"

"You stay," Stiles interrupts. "I have questions for you."

Peter smirks, delighted. "I figured you might." He settles back into his chair, noticing as some of the warmth returns to the room. Stiles doesn't even appear to be aware of it. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything. Tell me everything you know about mates."

Peter grins, sharp and wicked, tucking away the new information about the young mage to examine later. His attention instead turns to the request and all the things he'll take pleasure in revealing to Stiles about his relationship with Derek.

"Of course. Anything for you. _Nephew_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering what flowers (and message) Peter gave Stiles, here you go:
> 
> Bells of Ireland - Good luck (as in with getting well and in dealing with my nephew for the rest of your life)  
> White Camellia - You're adorable (yes, Peter is a creep, but he means it in a demeaning way, as in "aw, you slaughtered somebody, how cute")  
> Fern - Magic; Fascination (you're a wizard, Stiles--oh, or not, but yeah, you magic, boi--and fascinating to Peter, the creep, as well as finding fascination in the world and the way it works)  
> Gladiolus- Give Me a Break . . . I'm Really Sincere; Flower of the Gladiators (both meanings here; gee, wonder why they wouldn't think you were sincere, Peter? Also, Stiles is totally a gladiator--or at least as bad ass as one)  
> Nasturtium- Conquest; Victory in Battle (BECAUSE HE KICKED THAT BITCH'S ASS)


	2. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically nothing but schmoop. No, really. 
> 
> But it looks like this is going to be another 3-parter, y'all, so stay tuned for more~

Stiles is still mulling over all of the information about werewolf mates that Peter gleefully provided, when Derek comes through the door with a slight rap on the wood beforehand to alert Stiles' of his presence out of courtesy, something Stiles would make fun of him for, if he didn't have other things on his mind.

The werewolf stops dead in his tracks as soon as he's even with the bedside table and glances at the bouquet that hadn't been there when he left. He sniffs noticeably and then his gaze snaps over to Stiles, eyes wild.

"Hi, honey bunch. Your uncle dropped by," Stiles says lightly, privately and invariably elated to see Derek's face again, in spite of the secret he'd been keeping. In spite of Scott's words.

Derek stomps over to the bed and snatches up Stiles' arm to bring it to his nose.

"He touched you," Derek accuses. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. He took some of my pain actually. Just a little bit. Made fun of you for not being able to control how much pain you take at a time while he was at it. Brought me flowers. Chatted for a while. Hassled me a tad. Pretty ordinary visit, really," Stiles informs him casually. "Oh, except for the nice, long conversation we had about you and I being _mates_ , that is. _That_ part was rather, shall we say, enlightening?"

Derek freezes, his thumb's steady strokes over Stiles' wrist ceasing. His whole body goes still like he's ready to bolt out the door. Or possibly the window.

"Were you just never going to tell me?" Stiles asks, tone expectant, like Derek's answer better be a good one.

Derek seems to shrink into himself a little, eyes averted and shoulders hunched. He  sets Stiles' arm back on the bed, withdrawing his touch completely. "I was. Eventually. I just...it's only been a month. I didn't want to...to scare you away with something like that."

Stiles scoffs, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. Looks like he was exactly right. He pokes Derek in the temple, causing him to look at him.

"How many times do I have to remind you that you're _mine_? Did you miss Melissa's speech last night? Once I've got my claws in you, I _never_ _let go_. You're not going _anywhere_ , Derek. Neither am I. And seriously? We're bound by blood. I think we're pretty darn committed to each other already, so really, what's mates-for-life on top of that? There is absolutely no reason you couldn’t have told me. You practically proposed to me last night anyway."

"I didn't…" Derek starts, looking embarrassed if Stiles isn't mistaken. "I didn't mean to word it like that. It just…"

"Came out that way?" Stiles asks, eyebrows raised in mockery.

"Just drop it," Derek says mulishly, a shadow of when they first met.

Stiles is not impressed by the return of Derek-who-makes-demands. At least the good, old threat of bodily harm is absent. Not that Derek would mean it, if it were there.

"Please," Derek adds, remembering himself. And perhaps remembering that it's his _mate_ he's talking to.

Stiles grins, unabashedly enjoying the use he can put his newfound knowledge to. "That's right "please." Better treat me right, Derek. I know I'm the most important thing in the world to you," Stiles tells him gladly. "I also know that as an Alpha's mate I basically have the same rank as you. In fact—Peter told me that I am the one and only person allowed to boss you around. It's my job after all."

"An Alpha-mate's job," Derek says stubbornly, "is to provide counsel to the Alpha. Not tell him what to do."

"Same diff," Stiles says with a shrug.

"Maybe this is the real reason I didn't tell you," Derek says flatly.

"Puh-lease. Like that would have stopped me. Also: still not an excuse for not telling me. You owe me at least four packs of Reese's and a blow job for this. Maybe two. And make the Reese's king size."

Derek rolls his eyes in that adorable, long-suffering way. It just makes Stiles love him a little bit more. Riding the wave of warm, fuzzy feelings he's getting he decides to let his lording of his newfound position go for a while in favor of asking something he wouldn't bring up with Peter.

"What does it feel like?" he asks, suddenly soft.

"What?" Derek doesn't know what track the teen has jumped onto.

"Mates. What does it feel like? For a werewolf? For you?"

Derek leans back a little and studies Stiles' face at length. He's actually never really thought about it. It was something he just knew, an instinct that reared its head the moment he first caught Stiles' scent in the woods while he helped Scott look for his inhaler; that clawed at his chest when he pinned Stiles against his bedroom wall and threatened him and covertly breathed him in; that howled when he held Stiles' hand for the first time that night after the panic attack at Deaton's. Even if Derek had been one hundred percent in denial about it until the conflict with the killer-witch, he had still been aware of it. He had had his suspicions about what it was right from the beginning, had had the feeling running around in circles inside him, begging for a way out, but he hadn't allowed himself to breathe life into the idea, to acknowledge the truth of it. He hadn't let himself desire Stiles that way. Even as the urge steadily became harder to ignore, it wasn't something he would ever have acted on. But then Stiles had been the one to reach out to him and all Derek had to do was grab ahold. Stiles had made it just that easy.

That's when he was really sure that what he was feeling toward Stiles was the link to his mate. When it had all happened so fast, so effortlessly, so _beautifully_. He and Stiles fell together like the last two pieces of a puzzle completing the picture. It hadn't happened with fireworks or stars exploding or planets colliding. It had happened with the smooth turn of  a key in a lock. Two became one _forever_ and it was quiet and uncomplicated and _right_. It was perfect really.

Derek lifts a hand toward Stiles' face, but doesn't let it connect with the smooth skin. He speaks quietly. "It's like it's reaching for you. Always. It always wants to be near you, always wants to be with you. It’s so restless without you."

"It?" Stiles asks, filling with warmth at Derek's words.

"My wolf," Derek says. "It calls for you constantly when we're apart."

Stiles' lips quirk at the corners. "Mine does that, too. I mean, I guess it's my magic or whatever, but yeah...it calls for you, too."

"I think it...got all jumbled up somehow," Derek says. "Your magic, my instincts, our feelings."

"You'd think that'd make it more complicated or something."

"It didn't," Derek states. "You're where I belong. That’s all there is to it.” _You’re my home_ is what Derek can’t bring himself to say out loud for fear of losing everything _again_.

Stiles says, "You're right. It's like one of life's simple truths or something. Life is short. The sun rises each day. You're mine and I'm yours. And that's that."

Derek leans in until his forehead touches Stiles' temple. "That's that," he whispers.

"Kiss me," Stiles whispers back, angling into him.

Derek does, soft and slow, like it's the easiest thing in the world to do.

Because it is.

 

 _Apparently_ Stiles' birthday had been three days ago. He had completely forgotten about it. Being unconscious for a few days does not do wonders to your internal calendar and being in a hospital bed for days after that _really_ skews your sense of time. He hadn't even thought of it much before he wound up hospitalized what with all the terror and general havoc that had steadily filled his daily planner for a while now.

So Stiles hadn't remembered his birthday at all. But other people did.

That evening Lydia waltzes into the room well after visiting hours and places a shiny, red conical party hat on his head without so much as a hello.

Stiles blinks in confusion for a long time until Lydia finally rolls her eyes and says, "You're seventeen now, stupid. We're celebrating."

"Oh. Oh! Wait, we?"

"Surprise, kiddo," the Sheriff says, entering the room, closely followed by Melissa, Allison, Isaac, and, surprisingly, Chris Argent.

When Stiles turns to look at him, Derek is smirking behind him.

"You knew about this?"

Derek nods.

"We discussed it while you were unconscious," Melissa informs him. "When you woke up, we coordinated for everyone to come today."

"Oh. Wow," Stiles says, sincerely bewildered by the attention. He doesn't comment that this isn't "everyone," but neither does anyone else, so he decides it's a subject they won't be bringing up tonight. "You guys are awesome."

"Of course we are," Lydia says, leaning in to place a neat kiss on his cheek and deposit a gift-wrapped box in his lap. Her eyes briefly catch on Derek's when she straightens up and Stiles can see the tension between the two of them like it's a wire stretched taut in front of him that he could pluck with a finger. "Happy birthday," Lydia says and quickly steps back to let the next person go.

The next person is Allison and she bestows Stiles with a gift that feels distinctly book-like and a hug.

Isaac hands him what is clearly a gift card and Melissa is bearing a homemade cake.

Derek slips a plain gift bag onto the bed next to him and the Sheriff tells him the Jeep already has its new tires on.

Stiles is already a little overwhelmed by the unexpected party, but the gifts are beyond special.

Lydia's present is a finely carved, wooden box that opens up to reveal several rows of compartments perfect for herb storage. Stiles gives her a disbelieving raise of his eyebrows—he had mentioned in passing to her that he wanted to learn more about the herbs that Deaton used and what he could do with them—to which she shrugs like her listening to him and remembering that detail wasn't a big deal.

Allison's gift is equally impressive. It's an encyclopedia of hunter's weapons, poisons, and traps. She beams at him when she tells him that she put it together herself with some help from her dad. Chris gives Stiles a silent nod, which Stiles returns. The book is obviously a sign of goodwill—and no hard feelings—between the two parties as well as an excellent present. Stiles can't thank Allison enough for it.

Isaac gives him an iTunes gift card. Which, while less thoughtful perhaps than the previous gifts, isn't any less personal. Stiles' music collection is well over two thousand songs and constantly growing. The card is a pleasant gift to receive.

The last gift to open is Derek's and Stiles would kiss him if his father weren't in the room, when he sees what it is. It's a red hoodie that Derek bought to replace the one that was ruined in the fight with Kate Argent. It's one of Stiles' favorite pieces of clothing and it's perfect.

Then they eat cake. The room doesn't exactly ring with laughter, but Melissa and John—the only two who haven't been in a fight with anyone else in this room—keep the conversation directed away from sensitive subjects and everyone seems to have a good enough time.

Stiles tells the room at large, "Well, being in a coma on my birthday was kind of sucky, but this party was killer. Thanks, guys."

They all smile, then leave with parting hugs and well-wishes, save for Melissa, who pecks a kiss on his forehead and slips him a gift she whispers is from Scott.

Derek, of course, stays. He gives Melissa a nod, wordless thanks for arranging this with the hospital, before settling back in his chair and watching Stiles peel back the wrapping on Scott's gift. It's a CD, which was obvious from the shape. What wasn't so clear before was that it was a very special CD. A friendship mix to be exact. Stiles sighs at the note that says, "To the best best friend in the world!"

Derek raises his eyebrows in a silent question, a gentle offer to talk about it. Everyone knew Scott wasn't at the party today, but no one knew why except for Stiles. The teen shakes his head in response. He doesn't want to have to tell Derek what they fought about.

Derek honors Stiles' wishes, doesn't press any further. He places Scott's CD with the other gifts on the table, then lays his open hand on the bed, which Stiles gladly wraps up in his long fingers.

"Happy birthday, Stiles."

"Thank you. Kiss me?"

"Always," Derek replies and leans in to lightly peck him on the lips.

Stiles thinks falling asleep with the red hoodie under his arm and Derek's hand in his is really the only acceptable way to end the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the dates: Stiles' birthday is April 8th (as decreed by the Teen Wolf twitter). Canonically in the show the March full moon (which was the worm moon, remember?) was some time in the beginning of March, which was when Peter came back. The season ended not too long after that. It's been roughly a month within this story so it's roughly the beginning of April. So it's Stiles' birthday. 
> 
> (I am not so good with the dates and I'm probably bending a few days here, but this is what I'm sticking with.)


	3. This S***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?!?!?!? Two chapters in two days?!?!?! It must be Christmas!! (Or I just took a day off of work ;) )

Stiles is kept in the hospital another thirty-six hours for observation. He's already recovering well and they release him under orders to stay out of school for another week resting at home.

The Sheriff takes off work for an hour to check Stiles out and get him settled at home. Stiles grumbles about the wheelchair they make him leave in, Melissa smacks a kiss on his head before he's shuffled into the car, and the Sheriff lets Derek tag along every step of the way.

Stiles continues to grumble when the Sheriff tries to turn his bed into an envelope and Stiles into the letter that goes inside. The teen still allows his father to hug him goodbye.  John pats Derek on the back and quietly instructs him to keep an eye on his son on his way out the door. Derek doesn't know why the Sheriff seems to think he'll have any better luck than anyone else.

When all is said and done, Stiles pretends like he's even thinking about behaving for about forty minutes then looks to Derek with determination in his eyes.

"What?" Derek asks knowingly.

He wants to go to the warehouse. Derek is not so keen on the idea.

"I just need to see…" Stiles starts. The rest of that sentence becomes too painful and he simply repeats himself, more firmly this time. "I just need to see."

Derek understands what he couldn't say. He wants to see where Cor's remains had been, where their blood had lain lifeless and still and cold. He wants to see if he can find some trace of Cor's spirit there.

It feels like a bad idea. Like Stiles will do something desperate and rash once he's there. Like he shouldn't be leaving the house anyway.

But Cor's absence is hurting Stiles so much; Derek can't take away that type of pain.

So he agrees and they go.

The warehouse looks perfectly normal. Like _normal_. Not perfectly spotless like someone had scrubbed away blood with a cocktail of chemicals that Derek can smell lingering. It looks like your usual abandoned grimy, dusty industrial building. Chris is good.

There's a faint stain, hardly noticeable, more brown than red, and roughly six feet across. It could be anything really, but Stiles stops right at the edge of it. It's exactly where Cor had turned into nothing more than a puddle. Derek doesn't know how Stiles knows that's the right one and not the other stain, the sprawling one that had been Kate once, but it's clear that he does.

They stand in somber silence for a while.

Eventually Stiles says, "I don't know why I thought he'd be here."

Derek steps up behind him to wrap his arms around the teen's shoulders, rest his chin on top of the left one. "No harm in looking."

Derek hopes.

"Yeah…" Stiles says, completely dejected.

Derek desperately wants to get him out of this place _now_ ; to take him away from this sadness and wrap him up in a little cocoon where he doesn't have to think about it. He had hoped maybe this would put Stiles' mind at ease, give him some small amount of closure, or help him accept that he can't get Cor back right now. But it hasn't done any of those things, so he says, "Let's get you back home. You need to rest."

Stiles nods and allows Derek to steer him. They face about only to be greeted by a crisp voice saying, "I would listen to Derek, Stiles. Your rest is very important for your recovery."

Standing before them is a group of five consisting of a giant of a man, a woman who seems borderline feral, a pair of smug twins, and a man who appears to be blind. This is the one who had spoken and who currently stands at the forefront of the group, smiling pleasantly at them, hands folded neatly over his cane.

He speaks again. "Derek. Stiles. It's nice to meet you face to face."

Glancing at the disturbing claws on the woman's bare feet, Stiles replies, "Let me guess: the Alpha pack."

"Very good, Stiles."

"What the hell do you want?" Stiles asks, lip curling. Derek wraps a hand around his wrist, a wordless warning to back down.

"Why, to thank you of course. For killing Kate Argent. An abomination of a woman if ever there was one."

"I won't argue with you there. But do you really think we're buying that? There's no other reason you could possibly be here right now?" Stiles sasses.

The man smirks. "Well...maybe I wanted to get a closer look at you. The scent trail of magic that was left behind here was quite fierce. Intriguing to say the least. I had to see for myself the mage that left behind that fiery smell amid such an elegant scene of carnage."

"Yeah, seeing is believing, I guess," Stiles says. "But you don't really "believe" much, do you?"

The woman snarls at the remark, taking a step forward. The intended recipient of the insult only smiles.

"I find I manage quite well. I wonder how you're  managing though, Stiles? With your wolf of blood no longer beside you? Your poor lost wolf who you can't even muster the energy to find, much less to summon. Do you even have any magic left?"

An eye for an eye it is then.

"I bet I have enough to put you down."

Derek yanks on his wrist, a clear plea for him to stop.

"I'd be careful with that sharp tongue of yours, Stiles. It may get you into more trouble than you can handle," the man intones.

"You want to talk about trouble? How about the trouble you assholes are in for coming into our territory and abducting two of our betas? Where are they?" Stiles demands.

"As I recall they weren't Derek's betas anymore and they were never yours to begin with."

Stiles ignores the jab and asks again, "Where are they?"

"I'm not obligated to answer that question."

"You son of a—"

" _Stiles_." Derek _finally_ says something, though it's not what Stiles wants to hear. "Don't."

"Listen to Derek, Stiles. He knows more about this than you do. Now I suggest you hurry home before you do something you'll regret."

"I'd make sure we'd _both_ regret it," Stiles spits.

"Oh? Making threats like that when you can't even heal yourself? Forgive me for not exactly worrying."

The Alpha Pack starts turning to go and Stiles can't help it, he calls out after them, "Don't underestimate me."

"I'm sure I'm not," the man says without so much as a backward glance and then they're gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha! There's the plot again~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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